


Reopened Wounds

by Xiaojian



Category: Castlevania: Mirror of Fate, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Body Horror, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiaojian/pseuds/Xiaojian
Summary: Sometimes, the son of the dragon dreams about the man he used to be.





	Reopened Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> "Trevor died a long time ago, father."

Alucard dreamed about Trevor, sometimes.

His mind had long ago separated the two. Trevor Belmont was a foolish human who died in the throne room of Dracula’s castle, speared on his own cross. Alucard was a despicable monster born in Dracula’s catacombs, many years later. 

It was hard not for him to think about Trevor. He wanted to put that life behind him, but sometimes, he would look down at his hands expecting soft fingers, and was startled all over again when he was met with bloodstained claws. It made it hurt less when he thought of Trevor the same way he would mourn any other dead man.

At some point, as he wandered the countryside aimlessly and listlessly after his father’s death, the dreams started. A natural consequence of thinking about a person so much, especially a person he’d been so uniquely familiar with. Many of them were muffled and his memory of them vanished as soon as he woke, like most dreams, but bits and pieces stuck with him.

Once, he watched Trevor and his family sit down to dinner, peeking through their window like a common thief, or perhaps a voyeur. Despite the fact that he knew, in the instinctive and nonsensical way of dreams, that they were eating dinner, the sun was bright and shining. The sun was always shining on Trevor in his dreams. Mocking him for what he’d lost.

All he did in the dreams was watch, for many years. Watch Trevor as he went about his enviously human life, drenched in sunlight and the warmth of his family and comrades. And as the decades wore into centuries, Trevor faded out of his mind and his dreams. No man or monster can hold onto the past for too long.

But today, after he’d driven a sword through his father’s heart and locked him away inside a church of the god he hated so much, Alucard’s dreams took him back to Dracula’s castle.

Where a new Belmont was sitting on the throne.

“I’ve been waiting,” Trevor said, speaking directly to him for the first time. His voice was loud, harsh in the echo chamber the throne room created. He sat rigidly straight on Dracula’s throne, bright light emanating from some mysterious source behind him. Too bright. Dangerous. Alucard felt like it would blind him if he looked for too long. But he couldn’t help looking, when the stairs beside the throne were decorated with the bloodied body of what was unmistakably his father, and Trevor’s combat cross was dripping blood onto his lap.

“What...” Alucard muttered, barely above a whisper.

“I succeeded where you failed,” Trevor explained. The harsh light cast his face in shadow, his eyes rendered dark hallows. He kicked viciously at the body at his feet. “The monster has been dealt with, along with his army of demons.” He wrapped the end of the cross’s chain around his knuckles and stood, staring directly at Alucard. “Except one.”

Alucard stepped back. He was rarely aware of his own body in dreams. He was so accustomed to being the invisible, omnipresent observer. But he felt disturbingly solid now, as he brought his feet down on the plush carpet that led to the throne.

“Are you going to run?” Trevor asked, stepping forward with the confidence of a warrior who had just slaughtered his own father, and was all the more content for it. “Where to?”

Alucard glanced behind him. The throne room door had vanished, leaving nothing but more of the ornate wall.

“Running didn’t save my wife, you know,” Trevor continued, and his voice sounded far darker than Alucard had ever remembered. “Do you remember why she died?”

“I...she - ”

“You should,” Trevor snapped, and he was suddenly standing directly in front of him. “It was your fault.”

Alucard tried to shove him away. Instead, he found his wrist entangled in the cross’s chain, pulled dangerously tight and threatening to snap the bone there. “Your mockery of a life is an affront to this Earth,” Trevor said. His face was still in shadow, in spite of how far he’d moved away from the light. “With your father gone, you are no longer needed.”

In place of coming up with a retort, Alucard lashed out with his claws. Years ago, it would have felt like sacrilege, to defile Trevor’s human skin, flushed with life and full of flesh. But this...wasn’t Trevor, he knew. This was him, and he had all of the power to stop this.

Trevor’s head snapped to the side, the cuts on his cheek opening. And opening. And opening. They tore wide open, invisible fingers reaching into Trevor's skin and spreading the wounds until his skin was gone entirely, and his features were carved in blood instead.

The human turned back to him, somehow still able to speak, to laugh. “Who are you kidding, Alucard?”

Alucard stumbled and fell onto his back as Trevor leaped at him, pinning him down with strength he shouldn’t have. They were of equal size, and even weakened as he was from starvation, Alucard’s monstrous nature still should have lent him superior strength.

Trevor’s hands were around his neck, now, and there was blood dripping down onto Alucard’s chest. At first Alucard assumed it was from his face, which was reduced to a pulsing mass of red, but then he looked down and saw blood welling on Trevor’s coat. Over his heart.

“Whose fault is any of this?” Trevor demanded without a mouth, and his voice was rougher now, filled with the death rattle of a man hundreds of years in the grave. 

Alucard reached up, pressing an open palm against the wound that had opened on Trevor’s chest. “Does it matter?”

There might have been more to the dream. Alucard wasn’t sure, because the line between sleeping and waking was a tricky thing to a dead man. He woke clutching his own chest, but his fingers were loose, uncommitted to the task. 

That wound had closed ages ago, after all.


End file.
